Noctem Aeternam
by SabrielPeregrine
Summary: Something is stalking the corridors of Hogwarts and it's not an out of bed student. Hermione and Fleur come together in the aftermath of an attack to fight against a new darkness that is rising from within the school.
1. Title Page

**Title:** Noctem Aeternam (Eternal Darkness)  
><strong>Chapters:<strong> 01-20  
><strong>Author:<strong> Sabriel Peregrine  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M (Violence, Horror, Language, Sexual Situations)**  
>Pairing:<strong> Hermione/Fleur

**Summary:** Something is stalking the corridors of Hogwarts and it's not an out of bed student. Hermione is returning from the library when she runs into trouble of the worst kind leaving Fleur to start picking up the pieces. The two come together in the aftermath to fight against a new darkness that is rising from within the school.  
><strong><br>Notes:** This comes at the end of HPDH. The students return to Hogwarts to finish their seventh year after the fall of Voldermort and complete their education. Fleur accepts a teaching position there as the DADA professor. Everything will be kept as close to canon as possible. Updates will happen weekly or bi-weekly. This is a continuation of a fic from long ago on an old profile I no longer have access to. Suggestions on where you as the readers want the story to go are always welcome and will directly impact the trend of the story.


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

It was the whispers that had brought her out of the darkness. They grew silent as she groaned and twin brown eyes fluttered groggily open. Her body lay adjacent with the floor with waves of bushy brown hair wreathed around a horribly aching head. With a soft grimace of displeasure twisting her features, Hermione very carefully pulled herself up into a sitting position and watched as a variety of colors swirled sickeningly in front of her eyes.

"Merlin's beard... " the young witch murmured, cradling her two sizes too large head in both hands. Hermione didn't register what the stickiness that coated the pads of her fingers was. Slowly, she dropped her hands down and stared dazedly at the cherry red staining her fingertips. "Is that ... blood?" The girl's brow furrowed in confusion as she brought her hands back up to press against the increased throbbing in her skull. Red streaks of bright blood swept across her forehead as Hermione pressed harder and harder. It seemed as though the pounding would crack right through her skull and all her thoughts would tumble out onto the cold stone floor below.

Moonlight spilled past the tall narrow windows set into the dark stone wall of the castle. Hermione chanced a looked through her interlaced fingers then furrowed her brow in consernation. Something was horribly wrong here. The once proud suits of armor that had lined this particular hallway looked like they'd been blasted apart. Bits and pieces of polished metal lay warped and discarded all across the floor. The paintings that had been within reach seemed to have been ripped from the wall and turned into little more than kindling. Solitary portrait frames that were far out of the average student's reach were completely bereft of their subjects. Doors to empty classrooms had been wrenched off their hinges or very nearly so. A swooping sensation hit Hermione in the gut as one door gave one last high pitched squeak and fell still. Pressing a hand to her heart, Hermione sucked in a deep breath of air and scolded herself quietly. "Just a castle draft. It was just a castle draft, Hermione. Really now. You've nothing to fear from Hogwarts. There's nothing dangerous left here to fear after-"

Hermione's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and as her words dried up. It felt as though her stomach had fallen straight into her shoes. There, in front of the window where she sat, lay a very dark and very wide stain. A fresh stain that dragged itself towards the door that had moved just moments before.

A blood stain.

Hermione's breath came to her in quick panicked gasps as she clutched at the front of her robes. "I ... I need to get out of here. It's past curfew. If Filch finds me with this mess around ... "

With an effort the young witch picked herself up from the floor. It was a task while trying to keep her eyes on the door. The world twisted dizzingly to remind Hermione she had to keep concentrating just to walk and sent her flying. Hermione whimpered as she connected with the wall, hands outstretched against the reassuring cool stone, as she closed her eyes tight and waited for the floor to stop bucking. She hoped whatever had caused this stayed in the classroom. Hermione hadn't ever run into any dark creatures when it was just her by herself. She was more than a little desperately praying that Harry or Ron would come by under the cover of the invisibility cloak and whisk her away to the Gyffindor Tower.

A few deep breaths later and still no Harry or Ron. More silence passed and the dancing spots had disappeared from behind her eyes. The small figure of the Gryffindor drew herself up with a shaky breath before turning her eyes down the darkened corridor. Her eyes tracked back several times towards the classroom with the broken door on it's sagging hinges. A smear of red followed her progress down the hall until the blood had been wiped completely from Hermione's trailing hand.

The moonlight spilled across the taut surface of an old oil painting and revealed the returning forms of the portraits. "Poor dear..." one wizened lady murmured, eyes trained sympathetically upon Hermione's retreating form. "Do you think she'll remember what happened?"

Off to the side in an ornately gilded frame sat a giant of a wizard. The gruff old man settled himself in his picture and took a large pull off his tankard, beer pouring down upon his sopping wet beard. He took a massive paw and wiped away the excess as best he could before growling out disgustedly, "Fo' that bonnie lass's sake, Ah sure as bloody hell hope not."

The figure of the old woman stared after the young witch before she turned back to the other inhabitants of her painting. The muffled conversation disappeared as Hermione slipped away and around a stone corner. After just twenty steps she was drained and exhausted. Five more and the colored spots had returned to her rapidly dissipating vision. Logic and good sense took a hold of Hermione Granger as she leaned heavily against the unyielding strength of the wall. Something was digging firmly into her side.

The young witch reached down and the chilled brass of a handle filled her hand. The spots had begun pressing in around the edges of her vision more persistently. Cotton had to have been stuffed into her ears because all she heard now was a vague high pitched buzzing. With heavy fingers, Hermione clutched determinedly at the handle and pressed all of her leaden weight against the ancient woodden door. It opened much too generously much too fast. The door swung around and slammed into the wall as the girl staggered through the archway.

The room swam before her eyes as Hermione stumbled forwards. Her breath left in a noisy gasp as she accidentally collided with a desk, her body collapsing over the creaking structure which noisily voiced its protest. A muddy thought floated through her mind causing a mild sense of hysteria to overtake her.

'Whenever did Peeves start oiling the door hinges as part of his mischievous pranks? Filch will want to keep him around if he keeps fixing things instead of breaking them.'

The room around her was already dark. It only grew darker with each passing second. Already the ache of running into the desk was spreading throughout her upper thighs. Hermione's eyelids grew heavy as though someone's fingertips pressing into the backs of her eyes. It made her want to close them all the more.

The edge of darkness held her body tantalizingly close. Hermione gazed down into its depthlessness and stared into a world devoid of dreams. 'This must be what people experience when they're about to lose consciousness,' she reasoned quietly to herself. 'It is rather comforting. Not at all the scary experience you'd think it would be.'

She took back her words instantly. There was a sudden flare as brilliant white light exploded in the blackness. Hermione whipped her head quickly to the other side with what could nearly be called a whimper of pain. Squinting weakly, the young witch unwillingly tilted her head back towards the light and tried to decipher who or what was putting off such a glaring brilliance. Logically, her mind gave her a sound enough reason to accept as she murmured, "It's only a ghost...I must have alarmed the poor...thing..."

The sensations of light and sound, the aching pain in her upper thighs, the rush and pulse of the blood throbbing in her head, finally grew to be to much. Hermione's eyes rolled back exposing the blank whiteness as her consciousness receeded.

Silence once more enveloped the room as the Gryffindor's body slumped bonelessly over the desk. Hermione's fingers remained loosely curled into fists as her breathing became shallow and quiet.

A shadow began to move from somewhere near the huge wooden outline of the teacher's desk. It heaved a weary sigh and was now standing besides the unconscious girl. It ran a cool hand over the witch's perspiring forehead and into her wild disheveled hair. The sunburst of light which had burst through the darkness was dancing on the end of a wand tip, loosely held by delicate pale fingers. Luminous silvery hair that was almost white, shining like liquid ice, brushed over those fingers right as the figure bent down to observe her new student. Pale artic blue eyes watched the girl with a great deal of uneasiness dancing within their depths.

"What is...?"

The professor leisurely pulled her hand back, enjoying the soft feel of curls beneath her fingertips even though she was still concerned about why this familiar girl had stumbled in and keeled over across one of her desks. Perhaps a little too much butterbeer with friends? The smile that had been growing slipped as the woman pulled her hand back. Her eyes widened as they were greeted with the thin red blood smeared against her pale skin in the bright light.

The wand dropped. Darkness rushed in upon the scene, enveloping every detail, hiding all that was visible to the naked eye. Hurried and anxious breathing blanketed the hush of a once normal Hogwarts night. Only a few whispered words were heard in the suddenly oppressive classroom as Fleur knelt besides the unconscious girl, hands brushing away bushy brown hair, revealing a wicked looking gash.

"Mon dieu...Hermione..."


	3. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Soft warm light filtered in through the window overlooking the hospital wing. The small figure of a sleeping student lay unmoving on one of the beds while a woman sat watching quietly besides her.

Madam Pomfrey, who had been flitting back and forth from her office to the student, was now sitting in her office finishing up the report on the attacked student. Fleur had assured the medi-witch she would watch over Hermione as she rested. Poppy had almost protested but the look on the other woman's face had stymied any protests she'd been about to voice. With a sigh, Poppy gave specific instructions for Fleur to let her know the moment her student awoke.

Fleur had agreed. She sat with one hand slipped into one of Hermione's own while the other gently stroked over the girl's forehead. Delicate fingers gingerly pushed aside the bushy brown hair as the woman inspected the blossoming purple mark. Fleur frowned as a small whimper of pain slipped past the girl's lips. Hermione's eyes slowly fluttered open as Fleur leaned closer with a faint smile, giving the cool hand within her own a light squeeze. Supportive. She had to be supportive. Flashes of the war came flooding back and it took several tries to get around the lump in her throat before she was able to push back the memories where they belonged. The here and now was what mattered. "Madamoiselle Granger. I was under the impression that the war had ended. I suppose you did not recieve the memo? Or perhaps you like the fact that I am now taking care of you once again like before."

"Fleur?" Hermione croaked then winced at the dryness of her throat. Before she could think to ask an arm had wrapped itself around her shoulders and she was being helped into a sitting position. The cool rim of a goblet pressed against her lips causing Hermione to glance up at Fleur with a frown. She hadn't even known she was thirsty until she began sipping the cool liquid. It wasn't long until the goblet had been completely drained and Fleur was helping her lay back once more.

Hermione coughed weakly, pushing the delicate hands away in as she settled herself against the fluffed pillows on the bed. "Why exactly are you here? I thought taking care of sick students was Madam Pomfrey's job," Hermione questioned in a raspy voice.

Fleur hadn't changed a bit. Oh, she'd grown a bit older with the war and all that came with it. The eyes remained the same though. They were the same eyes she'd gazed up into, fought, cursed, cried, and eventually clung to as she'd begun healing at Shell Cottage.

This was absolutely the last person on earth she would ever want help from. When Bellatrix had broken into her mind and marked her body during the war, Fleur had been the one to sit quietly by her bedside, not asking prying questions like the others. Questions that caused her to remember all the terrible little kindnesses Bellatrix had bestowed upon her. Fleur had understood that words weren't necessary and continued to watch over her with those eyes. Those piercing silent blue eyes that were a salve for the wounds that no one could see, no one could know ever about, yet somehow Fleur did. The bond that had formed between them afterwards was something that made Hermione distinctly uncomfortable to acknowledge.

Neither witch had the time to discuss what had passed between them with the war in full swing, and so it had gone unaddressed. Afterwards, Hermione had done her admirable best to avoid the french woman. The letters that had arrived over the summer holiday became less and less frequent until the owls stopped coming. No more were delivered. The month or so that she'd spent at the Burrow had required a bit more cunning on her part. The cold shoulder she'd given the french witch had eventually caused the damage she'd been seeking. There was no more effort on Fleur's part to hold more than polite conversation with Hermione after that.

_'So why is she sitting here at my bedside?'_ Hermione thought with a scowl etched firmly upon her face. She glowered up at the other woman causing Fleur to frown. "Really, ma belle. I would have thought you and I were past these silly little games." The veela's frown deepened as Hermione continued to scowl up at her, refusing to answer. "I can see," Fleur responded with a faint tremor in her voice, "that I have thought wrong. Pardon my assumption that you had grown up after the war."

Hermione flushed a deep red and had just opened her mouth to snap back with a scathing reply when Poppy came bustling out of the office. "Professor!" the medi-witch scolded while uncorking a vial of thick purple potion, "I had thought I told you to tell me when Miss Granger awoke."

"Madamoiselle Granger," Fleur replied stiffly as she looked down at Hermione then back towards the nurse, "Has just awoken. I was about to come fetch you, yet here you are, before I can even blink." She rose as the nurse bustled over to Hermione's side and began checking her over. The hands that fluttered over her now were warm and calloused. They were comforting in a clinical sort of way since Madam Pomfrey would take care of her as best as she could. Hermione glanced over towards another set of familiar hands, pale and slender and clenched tight at Fleur's sides, remembering their soft caring touch.

Warm brown eyes darted up to meet ice cold blue ones. The dispassionate look that Fleur cast over Hermione as she lay helpless in the bed made her stomach drop. A slender glass vial was suddenly pressed into one loosely curled hand as Poppy began giving instructions for the medicine. Hermione fixed an uncaring expression firmly upon her face and, never breaking eye contact with the other woman, dutifully tipped the potion back and drained its contents. Instantaneously, pleasurable warmth suffused Hermione's body and began leeching away any and all aches and pains from her wounds.

Fleur quirked one slender eyebrow at how quickly Hermione's scowling face had transformed into one of langorous content. She crossed her arms and gazed down at the witch below her for several moments before turning towards Madame Pomfrey and asking, "What exactly is it that you have given her?"

Poppy gingerly extracted the vial from Hermione's hand and pocketed it. The older woman turned around and made a 'shush'ing gesture at the other woman. Fleur's mouth shut so fast that her teeth clicked together. The nurse then proceeded to shoo Fleur towards the exit of the Hospital Wing with the full intent of seeing the professor off for the night.

The french witch scowled at this and quickly turned on her heel, making her way back towards the entrance. To dismiss her like a mere child was too great an insult for her pride to ignore. The click-click-click of her high heels echoed in the mostly empty hospital wing as the medi-witch followed in her wake.

Fleur glanced to the side and saw the partways open door to Poppy's office. She hesitated before the exit of the hospital wing before detouring towards the other room. Without asking, Fleur stepped over the threshold of the small office and settled herself down on a seat. The medi-witch gave a minor sigh of irritation as she stepped in after Fleur and closed the door behind her. She was used to dealing with agitated students, worried parents, and even injured magical creatures at times. The professors had never given her problems before. From the expression on Fleur Delacour's face at that moment, it seemed as though Poppy Pomfrey would have to amend that opinion.

"Really, Professor Delacour," Poppy sighed, hands on hips, staring down at the silent fuming woman before her, "She will be perfectly alright since-"

"I do not appreciate being put off, Madam Pomfrey," Fleur cut in with an angry snap to her thickly accented words. "When I ask about the welfare of one of my students, I expect a truthful answer, not to be shoo'ed away like an annoying insect. I am not a child."

Poppy merely continued to give Fleur a mildly annoyed look as she continued on with her previous statement, "-I have just given Miss Granger a potion to ease the pain of her injuries. She will experience a mildly euphoric sensation and dreamless sleep. There are no other ill side effects to this potion except for the exceedingly rare reaction of weightlessness. I assure you I have her medical care under control, Professor."

Fleur had the good grace to color slightly at having cut off Poppy in mid-sentence and the reprimand barely hidden within the older woman's words. The french witch ducked her head and pinched the bridge of her nose in silent frustration. After a few moments had passed she replied in a tired voice, "Poppy, I am sorry. I do not know why my temper is so worn. You must know that I took care of the girl after her ... experience ... during the war." The emphasis on those last few words are bitter and said with obvious disgust on Fleur's part. "And I fear my protective nature from that time has not faded."

Madam Pomfrey's rigid stance eased somewhat as the nurse gazed down at the woman before her. There was something not quite right about the defeated image that Fleur cast when before she'd been furiously defending the girl lying outside in one of her beds. "Well, I'd imagine finding Miss Granger in the state you found her in was not exactly easy." She paused for a beat and then stated, "You've a headache? Sensitive to light?" She tapped her foot to show her impatience at Fleur's reluctance to speak until the woman hesitantly nodded. "Oui. A slight headache. Light seems to aggravate it."

Poppy tutted as she strode over to the far wall and began tracing one thin fingertip along the shelves. Containers of all shapes and sizes lined the wooden shelves. Everything from colorful tablets, thick syrupy potions, and ominously swirling vapors were bottled up. "Light sensitivity will increase your headaches until nausousness follows. You won't sleep well tonight either if you stay as tightly wound as you are." Poppy nodded vaguely as she picked up a wide mouth bowl and withdrew a colorful dried sprig of flowers. The cluster of the petite flowers were a brilliant pale blue color and smelled faintly of eucalyptus.

Fleur opened her mouth to protest but the medi-witch was having none of it. One of the sweet smelling flowers was quickly popped into the professors mouth. The french witch's mouth clicked shut and only Poppy's gentle fingers beneath her chin kept the flower from being spat out. "Chew one flower bud to do away with the headaches, two if nauseousness accompanies it, and three if you need to sleep. I'd recommend taking three now before it gets much worse. If you still have the headache tomorrow, take two straight away in the morning, then if it's still bothering you after classes have dismissed, come see me." The nurse quirked one narrow brow before adding, "Swallow, Professor Delacour."

Fleur felt as though she were a little girl again sitting in her mother's kitchen. Grudgingly, the witch did as instructed, chewing a few times befire swallowing. She watched as Poppy observed her with a clinical interest and then stuck her tongue out. "There. Happy? I've taken your medicine."

"Now if only I you would take it when needed," the medi-witch retorted with a slight shake of her head. "Remember what my instructions." Fleur nodded and stood albeit a bit shakily. It caused the frown on Poppy's face to deepen as she watched the professor make her way from the office. "Professor Delacour?"

Fleur turned around, her expression drawn, body held wearily upright. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey?"

The nurse's frown faded and was replaced with a reluctant smile. "Miss Granger will no doubt need breakfast sent up from the Great Hall for her tomorrow. I would hate to bother her friends with the task when they've got classes first thing in the morning. If you wouldn't mind ...?"

The french witch blinked in surprise as she slowly replied, "Oui. I will be here first thing tomorrow morning." She inclined her head as a sheet of white blonde hair fell over her face. "If that is all, I will not take any more of your time tonight. Bonsoir, chère."

Madam Pomfrey watched as Fleur slipped out of her office and listened to the fading click of high heeled shoes leaving the hospital wing. She stood there with crossed arms and stared at the closed door. Something was bothering her about this whole situation. Something that didn't seem quite right with the attack or the professor's reaction.

The older woman circled her desk and settled down in the comfortable worn chair behind it. She paused then reached inside one drawer and withdrew a large heavy book before dropping it to the desk. Dust erupted into the air resulting in several squeaky sneezes. Poppy withdrew a silk handkerchief and dabbed delicately at her nose before flipping through it's heavily inked pages. "Now, what was that chapter? Magical maladies and respective cures for magical creatures. Veela should be here somewhere ..."

Poppy's voice trailed off as her eyes fell upon the paragraph she'd been looking for. The information it held was definitely not something she'd been searching for though. "Oh...my, my, my." The medi-witch covered her mouth with one hand and continued reading. "Professor Delacour, I sincerely hope the symptoms are just a false alarm because this is the one thing that I'm not qualified to treat. No one is."

The light underneath Poppy Pomfrey's door did not fade into darkness until the sun began to rise on a new day at Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter Two

**Chapter Four**

"What in bloody hell is taking her so long?" a red haired boy muttered impatiently as he kicked at the stone floor below. His friend, a boy with sparkling emerald eyes and a wry smile, chuckled in amusement. "Come on now Ron. You should know better than anyone that Poppy Pomfrey won't release a student until she's absolutely sure they've got a clean bill of health." His eyes flicked up to the opening door of the Hospital Wing. "Which it looks like she's got, thank Merlin." Harry raised a hand in greeting and said with relief, "Hermione! We were wondering if Pomfrey was going to let you out in time to breakfast with us."

Hermione huffed at the mention of the nurse, crossing both arms over her chest as she made her way quickly over towards her two close childhood friends. "You'd think," the bushy haired girl protested as she gave both Ron and Harry each hugs in turn, "That it wouldn't take an hour to complete an ordinary routine check up. Because I had a bump on the head though she wouldn't let me leave without double checking everything on her list!"

"Well," Harry replied allowing some of his previous worry to seep into his tone, "You do have to admit that was a rather nasty bump you had. All of us were really worried, Hermione. We're just glad you're okay now."

Hermione colored slightly as her hand lifted to cover the still purplish bruise in question. It surrounded the newly healed pink scar that extended up into her hairline. In all honesty Hermione's current state was little to nothing compared to her injuries of the past. She shuddered at the thought of the Basilisk's gaze. That had been the worst incident, where she'd lay petrified for weeks, oblivious to all until Professor Sprout's mandrakes had matured and an antidote could be brewed.

"I just want to know what bastard attacked you," Ron stated angrily, breaking into her silent reviere, fists clenched at his sides. Hermione shook her head, helpless to answer as she had no recollection of how she'd managed last night. "Honestly, I've no idea what happened." A slight furrow appeared between her brows as she concentrated on the fuzzy details of memory. "I can't remember anything except waking up, alone, in the middle of the corridor, at night."

Harry nodded quietly and reached over to place a supportive hand upon Hermione's shoulder. "It'll be alright, Hermione. We're here now."

She gave him a weak smile at the heartfelt sentiment and reshouldered her bookbag in an attempt to lighten the heavy weight. Ron meanwhile continued to go into detail about all the ways he'd make the person pay who had done this to Hermione.

"And then we'll go to Filch's office, hang the bloke up by his ankles, and force feed him Puking Pastels!" It was an unpleasant thought causing both Harry and Hermione's face to twist in disgust. "Ugh," Hermione placed a hand on her stomach, "Ronald, that is not an appetizing picture. We can talk about all this later, preferably after breakfast. The food in the Hospital Wing may be nutritionally sound but it is definitely lacking in flavor and you're causing both Harry and I to lose our appetites. If you wouldn't mind?"

"Stuff it for now, mate," Harry laughed, patting Ron on the back who had suddenly turned bright hot pink up to the tips of his burning ears. He mumbled a half hearted apology before slipping through the giant open doors to the Great Hall.

One almost wouldn't know that a war had taken place within Hogwart's given the scope of the restoration work. The Great Hall was almost an exact copy of the one from their memories. Giant colorful banners symbolizing the four houses of the school hung over equally giant wooden tables bedecked with platters of tantalizing food. Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin table and was suddenly hit in the gut, like always, by how fewer students sat eating breakfast there this morning. Many had died when they turned in the war and joined the ranks of their Death Eaters families and friends. Hermione shuddered at the memories of screaming students and the ultimate price they had paid for their ignorance. She was suddenly pulled from the memory by a hand gently gripping her shoulder once more. She turned her head to the side and met Harry's own heavy sorrowful gaze.

"I know," Harry whispered quietly before tilting his head back to one of the more racuous tables where students were laughing and shouting at each other the heaping plates of breakfast foods. "Let's just eat and take things from there."

Hermione nodded, grateful for his understanding. She placed her hand atop his and allowed him to guide her over to the bench at their table. Ron had already settled into his plate of kippers and was shoveling food away at an alarming rate, causing Hermione's stomach to turn once more. "Ronald Weasley!" Hermione groaned as she began pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice, unable to even think about food while it was disappearing whole into the red haired Weasley's stomach, "You're going to choke if you inhale your food any faster. For heaven's sake, it's not going to grow legs and run off your plate!"

Ginny laughed and elbowed her very embarrassed brother as he began coughing. "She's got a point, Ron. Why not grab the table and tilt it up to your mouth? It'd be quicker that way." Ron wheezed, turning even more red faced as his embarrassment grew, and kept coughing. Ginny only shook her head, reaching over to pound her brother on the back while turning towards Hermione and Harry. The fiery redhead was as spunky as always. Ron grabbed his goblet of pumpkin juice and began guzzlng it as Ginny leaned towards them on her forearms, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "So exactly what happened last night? I only caught the briefest of explanations from 'Pompous Pomfrey' before she bustled me out of the room. Said you were too wound up and needed your rest."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders as the morning post began to arrive. Hundreds of owls of all shapes and sizes soared overhead and began dropping parcels and letters down into the awaiting crowd below. She reached up and deftly caught the copy of the Daily Prophet that had been about to fall onto her head. "I honestly don't know. I've already told Harry and Ron that I can't remember anything except waking up alone in a corridor-"

"With a split head and very banged up," Harry added, recieving a dirty look from Hermione at that extra addition. "Yes, well," the bushy haired girl replied in a no-nonsense voice, "I'm certainly no worse for the wear. Especially after Madam Pomfrey had her way with me."

Ginny began laughing along with Harry when Ron suddenly went slack jawed. All the color seemed to rocketed upwards turning his face a vibrant shade of purple and leaving him speechless. Harry had averted his eyes down to the tabletop as the smile vanished from Ginny's face, leaving behind a sour expression on the girl's face as though she'd been sucking lemons. The bottom of Hermione's stomach dropped. There was only one person who could illicit such a mixed reaction from her friends. One horribly french, stuck up, know-it-all of a woman who seemed unwilling to let Hermione go on with her life as it was before the war.

"Well ... Poppy Pomfrey having her way with female students ... this is certainly news to me," The voice that spoke was cool and reserved but Hermione could hear the scorn and anger hidden behind the words. Fleur Delacour could never completely mask how she truly felt, especially from her. Not after all they'd been through together during the war. Hermione sighed, her stomach already twisting up in knots as she turned her head in the other woman's direction, already hiding behind her own perfect scowling face. "Was there something you needed, _Professor_?" Hermione asked shortly, not bothering to hide her irritableness.

The frown that had settled onto pretty french woman's face only grew deeper at the implied insult. "I require nothing from you, _Miss Granger_," she replied with equal annoyance, her words becoming slightly thicker with her accent, and more short and clipped, "But the Head Mistress does require your presence." Fleur looked over the group of now quiet Gryffindors and let her gaze linger upon Hermione's. "Her office, Miss Granger._ Now_."

Before Hermione could say anything else in her defense Fleur had turned on her heel and strode out of the Great Hall. Everyone remained silent until Fleur's silver blonde hair had whipped around the corner and all view of her was gone. "W-why the _nerve_ of that- Hermione spluttered right at the same time of Ginny's angry growl, "Stupid twit needs to get-"

"Now girls," Harry said hesitantly recieving glares from the both of them. "She's not _all_ that bad."

"You're only saying that because of her veela heritage, Harry! I thought you weren't affected by her thrall but I guess I was wrong," Ginny responded angrily, leaning back in her seat, both arms crossed over her chest. Harry sighed, running a hand through his already messy black hair. "No, I'm not," he replied evenly, frustration coloring his words. "Ginny … she helped us more than you could know during the war. She hid us at Shell Cottage when the risk of harboring the Wizarding World's 'Number One Undesirable' and his friends was the highest. Fleur even helped Luna and Hermione when-"

The clatter of silverware hitting the table broke through Harry's conversation. Hermione stood, face pale and taut with anger. A hot wave of regret and shame swept over Harry as he fell silent. Neither he or Ron ever talked about that terrible time of the war. When they didn't know if Hermione would ever wake up from the daze she'd fallen into or the horrible nightmares she suffered. He'd forgotten for a moment and carelessly brought up the memory of Fleur. Harry hadn't ever really understood why Hermione had cut all contact off with the french woman after the war had ended. They'd been so close when Hermione had been recovering at Shell Cottage. Harry thought he understood now though. Fleur brought up memories too painful to remember. And here he was bringing her up and all she'd done for Hermione.

"_...Bollocks." _Harry muttured beneath his breath as he looked up at his seething friend through messy black bangs and the scratched glass of his eyeglasses.

Ginny fell silent as she looked at first Harry and then Hemrione, suddenly uncomfortable at the hostility thick in the air. She'd never seen Hermione so ... furious. Like she was holding back everything within her to not slap Harry clear into next week. It was obvious that her erstwhile boyfriend had just stepped into something bad. Something very bad.

"Hermione," Harry spoke in a soft cajoling voice, "You know I didn't mean anything by it..." He reached for her with one open hand even though it might raise her ire. Harry's touch had the opposite effect on her. Hermione bodily flinched and pulled away from the touch, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, expression shutting down.

"… I'd better go and see what McGonagall wants of me. It wouldn't be right to put her off if it's an emergency. Be seeing you Harry, Ginny," Hermione's voice trailed off as her eyes drifted over Ron's still vacant expression, flashing with anger, voice now dripping with venom, "_Ronald_."

Ginny placed a hand on Harry's arm as he attempted to rise and go after Hermione as she turned and quickly fled from the table. There was no other kinder term for the overly controlled fast walking pace his friend had adopted in place of her usual slow and refined pace. "Hermione!" But she had already disappeared around the corner without even sparing them a backwards glance. With a weary sigh, Harry sank back down in his seat and slipped his hand into Ginny's own. "Well ... doesn't that bloody beat all?"

"Harry ... love ..." Ginny gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Both turned at a sound that was like a cross between a snore and a snort. Ron closed his open mouth with a loud click, reaching up like a man waking up from a deep sleep and began rubbing blindly at his face. "Blimey ... I hate it when Fleur comes around unannounced." His hand fell away from his now normal complexion and he blinked, looking around. Ron frowned as he looked to Ginny and Harry and the empty seat across from him and asked, "Say … where'd Hermione get off to?"

Harry's head hit the table perfectly in time with Ginny's rather loud smack to the back of Ron's head.


	5. Chapter Three

Chapter Five

Hermione stood engaged in a silent stand off between herself and an overly familiary gargoyle. The stone effigy seemed to laugh as she glared into it's carved features before cupping a hand to her mouth, whispering the passphrase in the creature's ear. The hallway was suddenly filled with the low rumbling of stone grinding against stone. The Gryffindor jumped away from the creature as the large stone gargoyle replied in a graveley voice, "Hermione Granger ... the HeadMistress has been waiting for you. Please ... come this way."

Hermione eyed the now fully revealed passage with some apprehension as the statue bowed her closer. Summoning the famous Gryffindor courage, she took a deep breath and hesitantly took a step forward. The staircase began revolving as soon as she'd put just one foot on the first step. Hermione gripped the banister tighter. A nervous flutter of anticipation made her stomach tighten as a wave of nausea washed over her. Hermione grit her teeth and began to steel herself for the inquisition she knew she was going to face, glaring upwards all the while towards the fast approaching door.

* * *

><p>"I always thought that it would be Mister Potter," the new Head Mistress of Hogwarts mused quietly to herself as a familiar face framed by bushy brown hair peeked out from around the open door. Minerva McGonagall stood off to one side gazing upwards towards Albus Dumbledore's portrait. He smiled in a knowing fashion down at the slowly approaching girl and added, "You do have a point, Minerva. I had assumed that he would be the first student called to this office since you have assumed my old position."<p>

Hermione flushed. She hadn't even entered the room and already they were talking about her! "I'm not exactly pleased that it's turned out like this, Professor. It's not as though I enjoy causing trouble."

McGonagall raised one thin eyebrow, lips pursed together in a thin frown before they reluctantly curved into a small smile. "Miss Granger, you'd do me a kindness if you erased that scowl from your face. You are right, however. That department is more for your friends than a smart girl like yourself." She walked around the large desk and settled herself into the large magestic chair Dumbledore himself was using in his portrait. The older witch leaned forwards, placing both elbows on the worn surface, fingers laced together in front of once more thinning lips. "And you haven't been called here because of causing any trouble, but rather the trouble you seem to have found yourself in. Please, sit down. This might take some time."

Hermione had faced down terrible enemies. Deadly, dark creatures and humans with nothing but evil on their minds. So why was it so hard to face off a teacher, her closely admired mentor, a woman so formidable she was being hailed as the witch of the century? _'Well, when you put it like that,'_ Hermione thought glumly as she settled herself uncomfortably in the chair across from McGonagall. The witch suddenly took out her wand, causing the girl to flinch backwards, shrinking instinctively against the chair.

This action caused the older woman to frown deeper as she twirled the wand in several intricate motions. _'Perhaps there is some merit to Poppy's words. The war has left horrible scars on this girl, perhaps even more so than Mister Potter, who seems to be adjusting uncannily well to Hogwart's again.'_ A whistling teapot suddenly danced from the adjacent room. It was piping hot and filled the room with the fresh floral scent of orange blossoms and the underlying sweetness of honey. A tray of chocolate biscuits soon followed, along with two cups and other various fixings necessary for afternoon tea, deposited neatly besides the quieted tea pot. _'Then again, it's usually those you think are perfectly alright, that are not.'_

Reaching forwards, McGonagall began fixing the tea in a decidedly muggle fashion. A fragrant burst of steam issued from the neck of the tea pot as she poured two cups of the deep amber liquid in a graceful motion. The older witch slid the glass across towards her nervously fidgiting student. Her earlier frown had only deepened as Hermione accepted the tea, wrapping both hands around the hot cup, but refused to drink from it. Old habits died hard, after all. Despite having known McGonagall from the time she had apparated in front of her home in England to tell her parents their daughter was actually a witch, Hermione didn't drink anything she didn't pour herself. It wasn't hard to guess which lead McGonagall to sip her cup first. Hermione waited for several long moments before judging it to be safe and taking a drink also.

"As you know Miss Granger we have little to no knowledge of what transpired in that hallway. If Professor Delacour had not found you when she had ... " Minerva's eyes flick upwards to meet Dumbledore's uncharacteristicly grave ones, " ... well, we don't like to ponder on what could have happened. We are only concerned with what needs to happen now. It's certainly not in your best interests or the students of Hogwarts if what attacked you remains on the loose."

"Professor," Hermione paused, taking a deep breath, "I have no memory of what happened. Honestly," she added upon seeing the look of slight disbelief that crossed both of the professors' faces, "I woke up in the corridor looking like ... _that_." Unconsciously, she brings her arms up, wrapping them tightly around herself. Both Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall share a look as the girl before them continues. "All I could think about was getting as far away from whatever had caused the damage. I didn't realize I was hurt until a little later. When I saw the b-blood, I stumbled into the first room that was open. It's why I was found in Fleu- ... I mean, Professor Delacour's classroom."

McGonagall took a good hard look at Hermione as though gauging whether or not the girl wasn't revealing all she knew. The older witch looked back up towards Dumbledore and things seemed to be as they used to, that he was the Head Master once more and McGonagall the teacher looking to him for wisdom and guidance.

Albus turned towards Hermione and said in a low voice, "Miss Granger. You have done so much for the Wizarding World already. We are all most assuredly in your debt. Yet so soon after Voldemort's defeat there is something here, within Hogwarts, harming students. I think it would not be wrong to assume you are very lucky to have escaped." He paused for effect letting his words settle heavily over the two witches. His eyes had never looked so worn as this, his voice as tired, causing Hermione to sit up straighter as Dumbledore drew in another breath. He seemed to regret the words that echoed momentarily in the air, unable to take them back once released. " ... Hermione. I regret having to ask you this, but I think it is the only way, given the current state of your memories. Minerva?"

Hermione's eyes widened as her head snapped back towards her favorite teacher and mentor, who had stood, looking just as tired as Dumbledore in his portrait frame, wand held loosely at her side. "Miss Granger." Her lips curled up in a reassuring smile that did nothing to quell the nervous spasm Hermione's stomach gave at the sight of that wand raising higher and higher. She clutched white knuckled to the arms on either side of the old wooden chair. "Do not repel me. I am a practiced Legilimens. There is no pain so long as you do not throw up any walls or reject me." Her eyes were pained but self assured. "This is for the greater good of the school. I am sorry, but I do not see any other way. Prepare yourself."

Hermione sucked in a panic laden breath. Before she had time to protest, McGonagall had already raised her wand, whipping it through the air and soundlessly mouthing words. The strange sensation of falling backwards into nothingness hit Hermione, who slumped in the wooden chair, eyes rolling up in the back of her head, trembling uncontrollably. After a few moments, her body went limp, fists relaxing, eyes closing shut, with only the occasional twitch to show Hermione was still even alive.

... Then the memories began.

... Or more honestly, the nightmares.


End file.
